Protected
by imaginary iby
Summary: Abby sees something heartbreaking in the morgue. In a panic, she takes out her fear on Gibbs. Will it break them?


On LJ, I have a series of stories about a little girl called Lila, who is Abby and Gibbs' daughter. Now, I know, it's tricky to imagine a family – it certainly took a lot of effort on my part, but please don't be discouraged! A lot of stress has gone into (hopefully!) getting the characters right, and whilst this story is a little more emotional than most of my work, I really hope it pays off.

- - - -

Abby hadn't seen, or spoken, to Gibbs in three days. She'd tried to track him the same way she would a victim or suspect of a case, but his cell was off and his credit card usage was practically nonexistent under normal circumstances. It wasn't like he had a computer trail to dig into either. Ultimately though, the fact was that if he didn't want to be found, he wasn't going to be.

The thing that kept her awake, to the point where Ducky had ordered medication for the sake of the baby, was the fact that he had left because of her.

- - - -

Abby hummed as she watched the numbers on the elevator screen descend, timing her song so that the ping of the doors opening signaled the start of the chorus. She'd spent a lot of time being bored around the place. She stopped in front of the double electric doors to the morgue, just outside the sensor's radar and rubbed her belly, which was steadily getting larger. She could still see her feet, but only if she leant over, which was getting increasingly harder to do.

"Settle down," she whispered to the owner of the foot that was pressing against her bladder. "I'd really appreciate it if you could let me go five minutes without having to run to the toilet. I only need a second with Ducky to get the evidence from him and then we'll be out of the morgue and back home in the lab, ok?"

She sighed as the foot pressed harder. "Fine. Fine, have it your way. At least you don't make me _throw up_ over the evidence anymore." Looking up, she noticed Jimmy Palmer staring at her, frozen, as she supposedly talked to herself.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped forward and through the doors. To her immense shock, Jimmy sprang towards her, his arms raised. "Abby! Hey, I didn't know you were here! You know what? I'll bring the evidence up to you, it's nothing important. Really, you should go back to the lab." He seemed to be swaying from side to side, but his actions looked deliberate rather than drunk. To her even greater shock, he put one hand on her back and the other on her shoulder, turning to guide her from the room.

Completely perplexed, she was about to protest when she heard Ducky call out to her. His tone sounded strained and panicked, so she twisted out of Jimmy's grasp to look for him.

"Ducky? You alri…"

Her words drifted off as she noticed something on the morgue table. It was small, with a white sheet draped delicately over half of it. She blinked rapidly, as a bitter substance made her throat gag.

A baby, maybe six months old, lay on the silver metal, unmoving, fingers frozen in a clasped grip.

"Abby, Abby you shouldn't be here. Go back upstairs!" Ducky reached for her, and she grasped the material of his shirt for any support it might offer. "My Palmer, the chair, the chair for heaven's sake."

Jimmy sprang into action, dashing off for the chair that sat beside one of the morgue tables, before wheeling it up to her and helping her into it.

"What…what happened?" she breathed out.

"Abby, you really shouldn't be here. Don't ask the question you know you don't want the answer to."

As Abby studied the baby, she noticed the contrast between the white of the sheet and the colours of the skin. There was cream, but also deep purple and red, splotches, bruises.

She gagged again. "What happened?'

Ducky sighed, his gaze downcast. "A Marine mechanic found out that his wife was having an affair. This poor child took the brunt of his rage."

She looked up at him swiftly, and it was clear she wasn't focusing properly. Pushing herself up out of her chair, she made her way to the exit. "I can't be here right now…I have to go."

The doors slid open to let her leave, but also to let Gibbs enter.

"Abby! Abby, what are you doing down here? I told you to go to the lab!"

She sidestepped him as he reached out to her, skirting around him to head to the elevator. Pressing the button as the bitterness overwhelmed her taste-buds, she turned.

He made to follow her, but she flung out her arms, one towards him, one over her belly. "Don't! Don't touch me." There was a fear that she couldn't quite place in her voice and she recoiled away from him into the corner of the lift.

He froze, standing just outside the elevator door, looking in at her as she leant against the back wall. A look of complete confusion crossed his face, before his eyes hardened in anger. The last thing she saw was his lip curl slightly, as if disgusted, before the silver doors slid shut, separating them.

The minute she'd said the words, she'd regretted them. As it was she'd never meant them, but the damage was done. Crying nervously on the ride up, she instantly clicked the level for the morgue as soon as the lift stopped.

"Come on, come on, come on. Faster, faster, faster." She tapped her feet impatiently, fingers drumming nervously against her belly.

When the lift opened again, Gibbs wasn't there. Ducky was though, and he had a most concerned and perplexed look on his face. "What happened? He just opened the stairwell door and walked out without a word."

Abby groaned. "He's gone up?" She pressed the button for the squad-room.

"Wait for me!" Ducky shouted, stepping quickly into the lift. "What's going on?"

She didn't reply though, all her mental energy spent on trying to make the lift go faster. Scooting out the door, she walked quickly into the squad-room.

Tony and Ziva were standing in front of McGee's desk, their mouths open wide. McGee, in his seat, had half a turkey sandwich to his mouth.

"Does anybody know what just happened here?" Tony asked, confused and dazed.

Nobody answered.

"Was Gibbs here? Abby asked.

Tony shook his head. "Was Gibbs here? Was Gibbs here? Look at this mess! That's like asking if Vietnam got doused with Agent Orange!"

It was true, an upturned file lay scattered in front of Gibbs' desk, a coffee cup and lid lay strewn beside the rubbish bin, brown liquid seeping into the carpet. Gibbs never missed the bin.

"He just stormed in here, grabbed his car keys and left, all in one big grouchy hurricane.

Abby perked up slightly. "He grabbed his keys? Did he say where he was going? Was he going home?"

"If you're asking whether or not the beast spoke, the answer is no. He didn't look capable of it. Did Jimmy do something annoying?

Abby shook her head sadly. "No, it was me. I did something stupid."

McGee shook his head. "I don't think so Abs. You could never do anything that would piss him off this much."

Abby laughed sadly. "Yeah."

- - - -

Ducky took her home, refusing to speed. She cursed a thousand times not asking Ziva to drive, but Ducky had vetoed the idea before she'd even had the chance to express it. Talented as Ziva was, getting a pregnant woman from Point A to Point B in one piece was not her specialty.

Clicking the key into the lock, she called out. "Gibbs? Gibbs, are you here?"

She ran for the door to the basement, but the boat sat in the dark, untouched.

It had sat that way for three days, tools in exactly the same position that Gibbs had left them in before he'd disappeared.

The end of the third day finally found the boat with company though. Abby had been working to try and find him, but nothing brought her an inch closer to his location. Tired beyond belief, but feeling unworthy of sleep, she rested against the frame of the boat, her shirt pulled up over her stomach as she inspected her belly button.

"I'm sorry Baby. When I said I'd probably muck things up for you, I really did mean at least after you were born." She tapped her index finger against her tight skin. "You shouldn't think this is your fault. Your dad loves you very much. It's me who mucked things up, not you. I wish there was a way I could make him believe that I didn't really mean the things I said. I hope you're not too angry with me, but I understand if you are. Just remember this is only a temporary thing for you. I don't think he loves me anymore, but he'll always love you. He'll come back for you, don't worry Baby."

She heard shuffling at the top of the stairs and looked up. Gibbs was standing in the doorway, looking down a her. She quickly tugged her shirt down, suddenly embarrassed at him seeing so much skin. As he descended the steps, she retreated into the shadowed corner of the basement, this time not out of terror but shame.

"You alright?"

His question startled her to confusion. "Sorry?"

"You alright?"

She blinked, not answering.

He stepped past her, picking up some tools, seemingly thoroughly engrossed in a chisel.

She breathed in deeply. "Gibbs, I'm sorr-"

"Don't," he said sternly, but as he did so he reached out, his fingers hovering centimeters from her belly. She was confused at his conflicting message.

She didn't move, allowing him the decision. Sighing, he stretched his fingers forward and touched her skin, pressing gently against her. His hand slid over her stomach, until his palm was flat, his fingers extended as far and wide as they could go, only a few inches from being large enough to cup the roundness of her belly.

When she closed her eyes with pleasure at the sensation, he withdrew his hand, as if burned.

"How could you think I could hurt you?" His back was to her as he pulled open a drawer and deposited a hammer inside. "You thought I'd hurt the baby!" Accusation and anger flared in his tone. "After everything! After everything I've done to protect you! After Kelly! How could you see me as the same as the monster who put that baby in the morgue?"

She started crying, but furiously wiped the tears away. "Oh Gibbs, I didn't! I didn't really. It was just in that moment, it felt like everything in the world could hurt me. Everything in the world could hurt the baby. I didn't even see you, I wasn't looking. You don't know what it's like. The baby's inside me, growing, getting bigger everyday, and I carry it around with me, protecting it." She took a second to breathe, calming herself. Telling him that he didn't understand wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Gibbs, I know you protect it too. I know you would never hurt the baby. Never. That's what I feel in my gut. The bit that's not being squashed, that is."

She moved hesitantly towards him, and when he didn't flinch back, she moved closer still. Arm raised, like a child approaching a dog they're not sure isn't going to bite, she tentatively touched his arm. When he didn't respond, she curled her fingers around his wrist.

After a few minutes, in which he hadn't moved at all, she felt hope leave her and slipped her hand from him. Just as it fell to her side though, he crept his hand into her grasp, clasping his fingers through hers.

"You alright?" he asked again.

She shrugged slowly. "Am I?"

Reaching out his other hand, he curled his fingers around her neck, bringing her closer to him. He kissed her temple softly. "Yeah, I think you're alright."

Still feeling slightly unworthy, but too exhausted to deal with it, she collapsed into him, resting her cheek against his chest.

"How long has it been since you slept?" he asked, familiar concern in his voice.

"Ducky gave me something. Couldn't sleep. Missed you. Too worried. Thought you'd driven off a cliff in an accident or something. Missed you, missed you." She was falling asleep where she stood.

"Abs, I'm sorry."

She shook her head against him. "My fault."

He slipped his arm around her waist, guiding her towards the stairs to put her to bed.

"No, not your fault."

- - - -

Part Two.

Abby lay on her side, breathing deeply. She'd fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd lowered her to the mattress, but she'd fought it, telling him that she wanted to talk to him. He knew she was still beating herself up, but he wasn't sure how to make her feel better.

She seemed to have relaxed in his presence, her fingers hooked through the metal links of his bracelet, an unconscious attempt to keep him close to her.

She was still in her clothes; grey pants with pockets all over them and a black stretchy cotton top, sleeves falling to her knuckles, v-neckline scooped low. He'd propped her up long enough to slide her multi-buckled belt from her waist, and it still lay, cast aside by the bed next to her shoes. He was glad at least that they weren't the same clothes as when he'd last seen her. He supposed he'd have to thank Tony for taking care of her.

She shifted in her sleep, snuggling closer towards him, her belly pressed against his stomach, as he too lay on his side, facing her. He scanned every inch of her, as if she might have changed in three days. He was glad to see that, apart from the weary lines under her eyes, she had remained the same. He'd have hated to have missed something.

He couldn't believe he'd been gone for three days. It hadn't felt like it. He'd driven around a lot and at one point he'd visited Shannon's grave. Lying in bed now, he shivered with regret at the memory of cursing Abby vehemently, steadfast in his belief that nobody could ever replace his first wife, least of all Abby. Seeing her, breathing deeply, fingers latched around his wrist in fright, he knew that wasn't true.

She was six months pregnant, she didn't need this kind of stress, and it was evident she had been feeling it. She'd even told him that Ducky had needed to give her something to help her sleep. Fury with himself building, he realized that Abby had it all wrong; she shouldn't be blaming herself, she should be blaming him. It was all he could do to restrain himself from waking her up to tell her so. Abby had said something stupid, but it was a mistake that she recognized; something that had happened in a fraction of a second, when she'd been overcome with fear. _He'd_ made a decision, and it hadn't lasted a fraction of a second, it had lasted seventy-two hours until he'd been so overwhelmed with longing for the little growing baby and the house it lived in that he'd come back.

Whilst he was contemplating telling her of his thoughts, feeling deserving of her anger, she woke up, the tension in his body palpable. For the tiniest section of time she tried to move closer to him, but was quickly reminded of the bump in front of her.

Smiling, she twitched her nose to the left, a habit of hers that he found amusing. "I'm glad you're still here."

Disappointment with himself still washed through him, lapping at the inside of his skin and rocking from side to side in his chest cavity like a rickety boat on choppy seas. "I'm never leaving."

There was a conviction in his voice, so strong, that her smile grew wider. It was painful to watch, and he averted his gaze to her neck.

"Gibbs?"

"I'm not leaving. I'm not."

"I know." She traced her finger along his jaw. "I know. I don't deserve you."

He sprang up from the bed, almost not hearing her sharp cry as her fingers bent, caught in his bracelet. He quickly sat down again, grabbing her hand gently in his. "Are you alright?" He inspected her fingers, but when she chuckled, he looked up at her.

"They're just fingers, Gibbs. They're not broken."

"Are you ok?" he asked again, insistently.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine. Please don't start being annoying."

He pushed up from the mattress again, pacing at the head of the bed.

She sat up, struggling for a minute. "Gibbs, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Stop apologizing, Abby," he said, as he scrubbed his hand over his face.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't need to keep apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong, I did."

"What did you do wrong?" She stared up at him, wide-eyed in disbelief, crossing her legs underneath her.

Once again, he was struck by how much faith she had in him. Sometimes it felt like a burden, her innocent belief that he could fix and solve everything and was completely devoid of fault; a weight too great for him to carry, when carrying it meant so much. He worried every now and then that she didn't really understand the nature of his past work. Sometimes though, it made him ridiculously pleased, that there was still someone in the world who trusted him so implicitly, who equated him with safety and protection. To have it be her, such an intelligent person, was reassuring.

That was what had jolted him, when she'd been afraid of him in the elevator. Gibbs was used to looking into the eyes of those who were about to die, but to see such terror in hers was startling. Now though, she looked up at him with nothing but trust, trust he wasn't sure he deserved.

He remained silent. If he told her about his thoughts at Shannon's grave, she might never forgive him. Or she might, and he didn't know if he could deal with that.

She was all roundness and curves. Pale skin and dark clothes, eye-shadow smudged around her eyes, a sleepy, beautiful bundle before him.

He smiled sadly and shook his head. "I left you, but I'm back now. Do you want something to drink?"

- - - -

Gibbs woke up when a hand slid across his chest. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling, before tiling his head to look at Abby. She was on her side, the only way she felt she could sleep these days, her eyes fluttering. He loved watching her wake up, she would always stretch, cat-like, wiggling her toes.

Blinking rapidly, her eyes focused on him.

"Mornin'." Sometimes, when she was sleepy, her old southern accent would creep slightly in.

He didn't reply, continuing to look up at the ceiling. He didn't trust himself to look at her.

She poked him. "What's up?" When he didn't respond, she continued. "This is about that thing you were going to tell me last night, isn't it?" She laughed at his shocked expression. "Yeah, I know you chickened out about something. So, you going to tell me? If you're not, then you need to stop sulking, yes, sulking, don't look at me like that."

Gibbs didn't think anybody had ever told him to stop sulking before, simply because he didn't think he'd ever done it.

Thinking of a way to broach the subject, he asked tentatively, "how do you feel about Shannon?"

Abby stilled beside him, shrugging slightly. "I don't know…I'm not jealous, if that's what you think. I just think she was part of something really sad. Mostly, I just feel sad for you."

"Do you think I love you as much as her?"

"Well, that's a question to ask a girl when she'd just woken up."

He stared at her, waiting for an answer.

She sighed exasperatedly. "I don't know! How am I supposed to answer that? I think that if you loved her like I think you love me, then she'd be happy."

"Very diplomatic there, Abby. Answer the question."

She cast her gaze around the room, as if seeking inspiration from something. "I think…I mean, sometimes I think that if she was still alive, you would never have ended up with me. Doesn't mean I'm glad she's gone, obviously. Ultimately though, there's no point in speculating on things like that."

"You're still not answering the question."

She pursed her lips. "Yes, I think you do. I think you're so sad that she and Kelly are gone that sometimes you can't sleep, but I don't think it means you love me any less. I used to think you'd swap me for her if you could, but I don't think that anymore."

Gibbs sighed. "When I was gone…I thought that I could never love you as much as her. That you could never replace her."

Abby stilled beside him, taking his words in. She averted her gaze, looking down at her pillow.

"Then, in seventy-two hours, I missed you as much as I've missed Shannon all these years. I couldn't bear being away from you."

Abby looked up at him. "Well, that's ok then."

Gibbs reeled in shock.

"People say crazy things when they're upset, Gibbs. I said something I didn't mean, and so did you. So, you didn't mean it?"

"No," he replied quickly, forcefully.

"Well, that's ok then. Even you, Mr. Grouchy-Stoic-pants, still has feelings that they can't always control. Now, if it's alright with you, all this talk is making me feel hungry. I think, as punishment for your crimes, you should make me some toast."

"I make you toast and I'm forgiven?"

Abby chuckled. "When has anything else about me been conventional?"

That, Gibbs had to concede, was true.

- - - -

Please tell me what you think!


End file.
